


Sparring

by allonsytotumblr



Series: Fëanor and Nerdanel Happy With No Angst At All [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Play Fighting, Sexual Tension, Sparring as a metaphor for sexual tension, Stick Fighting, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytotumblr/pseuds/allonsytotumblr
Summary: Nerdanel tries to deal with her romantic emotions and Fëanor teaches her how to fight.





	Sparring

Nerdanel had feelings for Fëanor, and she was absolutely furious about it. She could not exactly pin down when she began to feel this attraction to him, but she knew that now she was forced to deal with these new emotions, such stupid things…

She would not call it love, she did not want to, the very thought of that terrified her, but she did enjoy being around him very greatly- that was nothing new, they had always been friends- and he was the one of the only others she had ever met that loved the forge in the same way that she did, and his mind was brilliant, and their journeys together were very pleasant, even when they travelled in silence. But previously Nerdanel had never felt as she did now, such as when they worked at smithing together, Fëanor speaking of the method he was inventing for the creation of gems, and Nerdanel realizing that she had not heard anything that he had been saying because she was distracted by how close he was and the fact that he had removed his shirt due to the heat of the forge.

And to think that she once had felt nothing for him! To think that she had slept in the same bed and had easily fallen asleep. To think that she had even kissed him- and only for practice!

Nerdanel hated that whenever she saw Fëanor she had both the urge to physically fling herself at him across his worktable- after carefully moving aside whatever project he was working on of course- and the urge to run away and hide and never see him again.

But however pleasant it was to imagine the first scenario, she did not know how to bring it about. In the forge Nerdanel was quite capable at shaping stone and metal, but not hearts. The ways of flirting, of attraction, of seduction, were utterly alien to her. And even if she did become familiar with them, she still doubted that they would work on Fëanor. He did not seem to notice any other maidens, not those who apprenticed with her father, nor those belonging to noble families.

She would tell Fëanor how she felt, she vowed. Nerdanel was used to speaking her mind on all other matters and to conceal such a thing as this felt akin to lying. She will tell Fëanor, but just not today.

Today being a day, where all the other apprentices had left, and her father, having important deliveries to make, had left her to close the workshop. And now the forge’s fires were all put out and the debris swept off the floor. Fëanor had remained behind to help her, which he did often although the tasks were not hard, and she did not really require the assistance. While they worked, Fëanor spoke of his progress in the art of swordfighting, taught to him by a tutor. He quite enjoyed it, he said.

Nerdanel forgot sometimes that he was also a prince, not only her friend, and that he lived the life of royalty, with private lessons and such.

“You should learn how to use a sword,” stated Fëanor.

“I have no time for such lessons,” she replied. Many other apprentices in the forge spoke highly of creating and wielding their own swords, something about the process of using a sword that they themselves had made and able to perfectly shape the balance of their weapons. Nerdanel had always loved swords, and knives, and spears, all metal weapons really, but only their crafting and not their actual uses.

“No need, for that, I can teach you now” he said, standing up. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Oh well, with you as my extremely experienced teacher, how can I refuse?” Nerdanel agreed, both because she was bored, and because, to be perfectly honest, she wanted to remain in Fëanor’s company for as long as possible- which annoyed part of her greatly but was true all the same Since there were no more tasks to be done, and they were talking of nothing particular, he would leave if she told him that she had no interest in fighting. Was this flirting? She could do this.

And why not learn? Nerdanel had never made a sword, and it she knew how to use one, she would be able to her skills in that area of crafting as she could forge her own.

“What are we to use for swords?” She asked.

“Any sort of wooden rod,” Fëanor replied, and Nerdanel’s mind jumped to the walking sticks her father kept by their door. He liked to carry one on his travels- he had not taken it today as he had not gone far- and he had carved one for her to use as well, although she prefered to travel light, unencumbered any unnecessary items.

She fetched them. They were sanded smooth, preventing splinters and the one she now held came up her her shoulder, slightly too long for a sword. Feeling like a child playing at being a warrior, she stood in the courtyard outside the forge, awkwardly holding her ‘sword.’ Fëanor began to instruct her, first on her stance, (wrong,) then on her hand grip (wrong), and then back to her stance which she had changed while concentrating on the position of her hands. And this was not even the actual fighting part, only how to stand.

“When do I get to actually stab you?” Nerdanel asked, looking at him but remembering not to move the rest of her body so he would not tell her to move her feet apart, again.

“You may try,” Feanor answered, and she attempted a swipe at him which he dodged easily. “Do not look where you want to hit, it shows your intention,” he called and she gritted her teeth, vowing that she would not do it again. He picked up the other walking stick and began demonstrating basic moves, counting the beats like a dance. “One,” and she swung left. “Two,” and right. “Three,” and she went back to the left, but hitting lower now. “Four,” and down on the right.

Nerdanel swung at air at first, and then he stepped in, and they parried each other's strikes slowly, she stepping forward and attacking on his command, and then with him on offensive, moving towards her. They go through this again and again, and the movements became easier with repetition. Fëanor explained other things as well: how to put power behind strikes, and methods of disarming an opponent.

“I understand,” she said, and did, mostly. This was proving to be more interesting than Nerdanel thought it would be, and she wanted to stop practicing slow versions of the moves and see what true fighting felt like.

“Then- on guard!” And she moved towards him, trying to remember what she had been learning, trying to execute them quickly, which avoiding his strikes. It was incredibly tricky, as she attempted to hold all of these things in her mind at once. Again she was struck by the semblance to dancing and the necessity of control over the whole body.

Fëanor was going easy on her and not using the full extent of his skill, of course she knew that, yet Nerdanel still felt quite proud when she at last managed to drive him back against one of the walls in the courtyard. “Surrender!” She shouted, leaning forward, pressing her stick harder against his, forcing it back towards him.

They were quite close, she realized, suddenly noting their position, she having pushed him against a wall and closed the distance between as she pressed her advantage. She imagined them with the absence of swords, as lovers, pressed together, their arms wrapped around neck and waist, and she kissing his neck and- honestly, was this was love did to your brain?

“Yield, I have won!” Nerdanel commanded him again, jerking her mind back to the present, glad that her flushed face and breathing could be attributed to their sparing and not to any of her ridiculous feelings.

“Fine! I yield, before you kill me with your very dangerous wooden stick.” Nerdanel grinned and stepped backwards, lowering her weapon.

“Well done,” Fëanor said.

Nerdanel felt embarrassed, as she always did when he complimented her, and said, “I suppose, for my first fight. Will you continue to teach me?” Strands of her hair had fallen out of her braid and she pushed them behind her ears. She remembered that this gesture was one that she oft seen other maidens do when they were attempting to enamor certain youths, although those girls were not covered in sweat when they did it. Oh well.

“Yes, I will gladly instruct you.” She could tell whether Fëanor had noticed her gesture. At least he was willing to tutor her.

“Thank you.” The conversation paused and she did not know how to revive it. This happened often now, with him. She, who could always think of things to say. “It is late,” she offered, glancing up at the sky over their heads.

“Yes- I should be going,” he said, and Nerdanel cursed herself silently, for to imply that Fëanor should leave was not her intention at all. How did people get others to fall in love with them? How! When she could not even speak what she wished?

Fëanor handed back his borrowed walking stick and said goodbye, he will see her tomorrow, and Nerdanel said that yes she would, goodbye. As he walked away she thought, finally, of something clever to say and before she could consider whether it was too brash she had called out, “I enjoyed sparring with you, Fëanor, it is always nice to have you up against a wall!”

Fëanor paused briefly, and without turning around, said, “I enjoyed it- sparring- too.”

He walked away, and Nerdanel was sure that he was smiling- she knew that she was at least.

 


End file.
